Aftermath
by Wolf Aerith
Summary: The Hero of Ferelden dissapeared just after slaying the archdemon and ending the Blight, and Alistair wants to know what has become of her. She, however, may not have wanted to be found. Dragon Age:Origins. OCxZevran, OCxAlistair
1. Chapter 1 Aftermath

Chapter 1—Aftermath

It all started the night after Alistair was named successor to the throne. Miriam had given up everything to put him there; she'd greased the palms of half of the lands meet, earnestly working her way up to the trust of the other half. She killed Loghain and imprisoned the treacherous Arnora, and had finally placed the crown on Alistair's head with her own hands, and helped him make his speech to the Landsmeet.

She sat with the entire team around her, talking about the successes of the day, and of the plans for the next few days, when Alistair opened the door and walked in, a grave look on his face.

"_Miriam, we need to talk. About us."_

Miriam tried to talk him out of it, pleading with him with love and tears in her eyes, and although it was obvious that his own words hurt him beyond measure, when he turned and left the room, he was no longer with her; he could no longer allow himself to be.

"_It is my duty, Miriam. I am so sorry, but it is my duty."_

Miriam sat there, in front of all of her companions, trembling. As the door shut the room was completely silent, and they could all hear the crystalline sound of her heart breaking. It was Zevran who had reached over silently and placed a hand on her shoulder, cautiously looking at her, not daring to speak.

She stood, wordlessly, and left the room, and was not seen again by anyone, until three nights later, at the camp.

The arch-demon was slain exactly a week after that.

Miriam had walked around the hall after Alistair's coronation, speaking to her companions in turn. After saying her final farewells she left the castle with two of her companions and her dog, and disappeared from Ferelden entirely.

Rumors circulated around the statue erected in her honor at the heart of Denerim; gossips stood and glanced up at the stone likeness of her and felt her eyes upon them, but nobody knew what had become of the elfin Grey Warden who had saved everyone.

* * *

Alistair was a good king, and he was kind to his people. He married Arnora, despite her past attempts to betray Miriam. He did not love her, but the people did, and she was a smart woman, who knew what she was doing; he would often go on trips, and he knew he could leave her in charge of the castle while he was away.

As the months passed, Alistair left the castle more often. He made visits to surrounding nations, Grey Warden bases, the Circle Tower, Orzammar, and sometimes the Dalish encampments. The more time passed, however, the more he'd leave for no reason at all; he'd take hunting trips or just ride around Ferelden, taking little more than a small ensemble of guards with him.

Even when he wasn't doing it consciously, he was hoping to find her again. Her smile, her laugh, her body; every little thing about her plagued his mind constantly. He still loved her. There was no denying it. When he made love to his wife, he could only think of making love to her. When he looked at his sword, he saw her reflection. He'd see her in crowds. Every elf he glanced at turned into Miriam.

So he searched. Even when he'd given up hope of finding her, he traveled instinctively, looking. Always looking.

* * *

This time it was a hunting trip. He took with him a group of four guards, Wynne, his closest advisor, and Oghren, who had taken over as General of Ferelden's royal armies since Miriam disappeared. He kissed Arnora goodbye on the cheek, not looking at her. She smiled and waved him off, her hand clutching her stomach; she was swollen with child.

They traveled southwest, heading down to Ostagar. Alistair planned to stop there and pay his respects to Duncan and Cailain, and the others who had fallen there, before going into the wilds to hunt darkspawn and other beasts.

The traveling was slow; it was late winter, and although it had warmed up in recent days, on the second morning of travel they found the land covered in a thin sheet of beautiful white snow.

They reached Ostagar the next day. The snow hadn't melted, but they found their way through the ruins of Ostagar with little problem. Alistair stepped away from his group for a bit, kneeling down where the king's camp had once stood; the last place he had ever seen Duncan. The first place he had ever seen Miriam.

He felt tears well up in his eyes; the only two people he'd ever loved, aside from Eamon, were lost; it was almost a year since he'd seen Miriam, nearly two since Duncan passed. He did not want the others to see him crying, however; he knew that he must keep his kingly image up. He looked away, eyes down, but instead of letting the flawless snow blur, his eyes alighted on a disturbed area nearby. He stood up and examined it carefully. Someone else had been here; there were clear boot prints leading to the edge of the ruin, and an area on the ancient stone railing where someone had cleared the snow, presumably to lean on it while they gazed over the valley of Ostagar's battle. Alistair immediately called his group over.

"What do you think of this? There should be nobody here, and it can't be a scavenger. This place is under guard at all times, right?" He demanded.

"It is curious indeed. Could it be a Chasind? The wilds are so close…they could have snuck in." Wynne proposed, curiously examining the prints.

"No, they're careful never to leave any sign of where they've been. They use special markers to cover their trails; I've seen them before." A possibility then entered his mind that chilled him to the bone.

_Could…could it be…Morrigan? She used to live so close…could she be here with…with that child? _He prayed it was not so; he never wanted to see her again, as per the promise she made when…_it_…was conceived.

Oghren spat, and grunted.

"We'll just ask the guardsmen if they've permitted anyone in lately. If they didn't…we could always just follow them and find out who it was." Alistair nodded.

"Good idea. They're camped just down the way."

They all marched down to the guards' post; A group of tents for about twenty men, at the base of a huge statue dedicated to everyone who had dies at Ostagar as a result of the Blight and Loghain's treachery.

"Welcome, travelers! Are you here for—" A guard began, but another quickly cut him off, stepping in front of him to address the group.

"Please, shut up you bumbling idiot! Can't you see these are no regular travelers? This is King Alistair! Ten thousand apologies for him, you majesty; he simply did not recognize you. Welcome back to Ostagar. What can I help you with?" Alistair smiled, chuckling.

"Please, it's fine." The guards bowed. "Can you tell me if there have been any permitted visitors of late? I have seen boot-prints in the snow around the ruins, but they are not the guardsmen's plate boots' prints."

"Oh, err…No, your highness. The only visitor of late has been you milord. Anyone else we would have known about; we have men on duty at all hours."

"Thank you. I appreciate it; keep your guard up." Alistair replied, and the two guardsmen saluted and walked off. Oghren scoffed.

"Those two nug-sniffers wouldn't know an intruder if they were standing on top of them! Looks like we're off on a man-hunt now." Wynne nodded.

"If going after this…intruder is what you wish, I'll have the men bring around the horses." Alistair nodded, and walked back to the prints, following their path back into the wilds, and pondering who was waiting at the end of them.


	2. Chapter 2 Man Hunt

**Chapter 2—Man-Hunt**

The group rode in silence, their winter cloaks and capes catching on the tree branches as Alistair led them deeper into the wilds, desperately following those footprints.

There were times when the person had waded through streams, as if to throw off the trail; Alistair and Wynn would go one way with a few guards, Oghren would go the other way with the rest, and they'd lead their horses through the cold water until one of the teams found where the footsteps led again, out of the water, and they'd regroup, pushing on.

After only a few hours, they found an old campsite; there was a small, burned out fire-pit, and a patch of land where the land was completely free of snow.

"This must be where the tent was. I suppose they were here when it snowed on their way, then they came and packed up their camp on the way back into the Wilds."

"It looks like they had someone waiting for them here, though. Look, here's a new set of prints." Wynne pointed out, and sure enough, amidst the tons of boot-prints around the camp area, when the boot-prints led away, they were joined by another set.

"Could it be thieves? The ruins would probably still hold some value to someone, right?" Oghren grunted, kicking at the fire-pit with his plated boots. Alistair thought over it.

"I suppose it could be, but don't you remember? Those footprints at Ostagar just went around the ruins; nothing on the trail showed any sign of being disturbed at all." Oghren grunted and turned his attention back to the trail.

"I guess we'll move even deeper into these sodding Wilds, then." Alistair checked his map.

"Actually, Oghren, in about ten more miles, we'll start hitting the Brecilian outskirts, but we're too close to the Amaranthine Ocean to see any Dalish, so it can't be them, can it?"

"Anything's possible; they seem to have no motive to be there, so I don't see why not. However, if it was the Dalish, why would there just be two, and why would they be at Ostagar? Besides, the Dalish would have no need to sneak into the ruins; they could just visit if they wanted. If that's the case, then the guards have deceived us, and I'm not sure why they would do that." Wynne said, thinking out loud.

"Huh! I wouldn't be surprised if they did deceive us, those little sodding—" Alistair cut Oghren off.

"Don't get too excited. We don't even know if that's true or not. For now, the best thing we can do is keep moving; I can already tell that it's getting warmer, and the snow is our only trail right now." He mounted easily and with one smooth motion, despite the massive armor he wore, and they all started off once more, trying to beat the setting sun.

Alistair pushed the group to go as fast as they could, but it wasn't exactly easy going, even for the hardened war heroes. Wynne wasn't exactly sprightly, and Oghren had to hold tight onto his saddle even when they were only trotting; his stature didn't exactly allow for graceful riding of massive war-horses. As the wild turned into the forests, the tress became denser, even the footsteps had to weave in and out, and those travelers had not had the disadvantage of huge horses, and a small company.

The sun set and they were forced to camp. They slept lightly, each of them on high alert. The woods were no place for humans to be, especially at night, when all manner of beasts roamed freely, in search of a meal.

* * *

They set off early the next morning with a silent determination about the group. The snow was beginning to melt as the sun rose, so Alistair forced the pace to quicken, making his horse dance around the maze of trees, his eyes fixed on the ground, on the trail in front of him.

Perhaps it was only intrigue that drove him, perhaps that old forbidden hope that he had carried for almost a year now. It didn't really matter, though; his surroundings blurred, time stopped; all that was left was the determination to find the person waiting at the end of the trail.

The trail had all but disappeared by noon, but Alistair didn't need it anymore. There were more and more tracks, coming and going, but all from the same general direction. It was clear it wasn't just a few people; it was something much, much bigger.

And suddenly, just like that, the group was surrounded. Elves, humans, dwarves, even Qunari encircled the group, forcing them together.

"Drop your weapons!" The leader, an elf, commanded, and Alistair did so, motioning for his companions to follow, which they did, somewhat reluctantly. Some of the foresters came forward and carefully collected the weapons, then took the reigns of the horses from the riders.

"Where are you taking us? Who are you?" Alistair asked, but the foresters were silent. He was careful to keep his royal golden armor covered; it may cause more trouble than good if they figured out whom he was, if they didn't know already.

Their silent guides led them forward, arrows carefully trained on them all the while, until they finally broke into a clearing. In front of the company was a Wall of tree trunks, too tall to scale, too strong to breach. The only way in was the front gate, which was manned by a company of about twenty more foresters, who roamed the tops of the wall, armed with bows and crossbows. Commands were called back and forth, until finally an agreement was arrived at, and they bade their captives to dismount. Their horses were led off by the men and women who still carried the company's weapons, while Alistair and his companions were led forward to the gate by their captors. The giant gate swung open by way of a clever pulley system, and a beautiful sight met their eyes.

It was like a city. Tents and huts of every make and color were set up under the trees. There was a market area, and a smithy. A stage was set up just off the market area, and bards sung happily to passersby. Children ran about, along with various farm animals and mabari hounds. People of every race from every nation inhabited the place, living happily together. As Alistair's company was escorted through the town, he noticed that there were mages, too, and templars. There were Chantry priests, nobles, casteless dwarves, city and Dalish elves, and Qunari people. But they did not seem to pull any attention to the differences between each other. On the contrary, couples of every pairing roamed freely, without judgment.

It looked to be a beautiful existence. As they got deeper into the encampment, they had to cross a river that ran through it by way of a beautifully crafted stone bridge. Women, men, and children lined the river, washing clothes, scooping it up in buckets to be boiled and to use for cooking. A few splashed it on their faces, to wash up for working.

Beautiful as the river was, the true beauty of the camp was on the other side: A cliff loomed over the encampment, but built into it were huge towers, giant doors; it was some sort of ruins, reminiscent of the architecture of Ostagar, but it had been repaired, cleaned. It looked to be a beautiful castle, jutting out of the cliff's stony side, buzzing with life, sunlight gleaming brilliantly off its domed roofs. At the base of the looming, ancient structure, were more tents, and tables; they looked to be leaders of the different sects that joined together, discussing, laughing with each other. Alistair was still not permitted to stop, however; he was marched ever onward still, his companions in tow, straight into the gleaming castle.

The halls were magnificently adorned with all manner of architecture; a mix of elvin, human and dwarf's finest work gave the hall an incomparable beauty. It seems that the castles endless halls were still being used to house even more peoples, although there was a greater number of armed guardsmen inside too. Tables were set up, scattered about, most with plans and layouts on them, men standing around discussing plans. From what Alistair could make out, they were fighting their way through the castle, reclaiming it from the nature that had taken it over.

"Sir, we've brought a group of wanderers from the forest. They've been following footsteps back here for quite sometime, sir. It appears they came from Ostagar, but did not have a guarded escort. They were all armed." The elfin leader called to one of the foremost tables, and for a moment, nobody acknowledged him. Then, a cool, thickly accented voice responded and Alistair's blood ran cold.

"Thank you, but I can take them from here. I know them, from a while ago." The speaker stepped forward from the group, and his eyes met Alistair's. He smiled, the tattoo on the left side of his face moving as he did. Alistair didn't know what to do, so he addressed him directly.

"Hello, Zevran. I wasn't expecting to find you here."


	3. Chapter 3 Chasing Shadows

**Chapter 3—Chasing Shadows**

Zevran grinned, the black tattoo running down the side of his face shifting with his tanned skin. He was clothed in a fine black shirt and pants, with a blood-red sash around his waist, a stark contrast to his long, blonde hair. He wore dark, leather boots on his feet, and fine, intricate Dalish gloves covered his hands; his back also supported his two swords, the same two he had worn during the Blight. Alistair's eyes lingered on the latter items; they had been gifts from Miriam to Zevran.

"Ah, Alistair. It has been too long, my good friend. How are you? Enjoying the life of royalty?" Alistair smiled faintly, quickly scanning the room.

"I'm doing quite well, thank you. You seem to be well off, Zevran. What's all of this?" Zevran laughed, and placed his arm around Alistair, turning him away from the room, back toward where they came in.

"So fast to question, Alistair. You have not even let me greet the others! Oghren, you're looking handsome, as always!" Oghren snorted, but smiled a bit. "Wynne, my dear, how are you?" Wynne smiled.

"Stop being so sly about all of this, Zevran. You know what Alistair wants to ask. Where is she?" she demanded, and Alistair stared blankly ahead. It was too much to hope, but if she'd be anywhere, it'd be with him.

* * *

"_What are you talking about, love? Zevran and I are just good friends, nothing more." Miriam said as they both walked through Denerim's marketplace, stocking up on supplies for the next few weeks. Zevran was off looking at blades (and the woman who sold them) and Sten was selling extra armor they'd picked up through their battles._

" _I…I don't know. I suppose it's just that you two are always talking and laughing…I suppose I'm just jealous." Miriam laughed, and it was a beautiful light sound, like chimes in the wind._

"_Zevran and I are just friends. We have a lot in common, and I enjoy talking to him. He is nothing more, I assure you, Alistair. It's sweet that you're concerned, though. I'm glad to know you worry." She leaned up and kissed him softly. Her hair smelled like Andraste's Grace, and the loose strands brushed Alistair's cheeks. He smiled down at her, and took her hand._

"_I was so stupid to even question you…can you forgive me?" He asked her sheepishly. She laughed again, and flashed a grin up at him._

"_I already have, silly. Now come on, we need to get some more blankets; winter is coming…" _

* * *

Zevran smiled.

"Alistair, come, talk with me for a moment." They stepped away from the others, walking over to stand by a wall, away from the action.

"You want to see Miriam, yes? I will hide the truth; she is here." Alistair's heart leapt, adrenaline pumped through his veins; he didn't know whether to feel excited or nervous.

"Of course I want to see her."

"Here is the thing: I don't think she'll want to see you."

The world stopped. Alistair went deaf; only those last words echoing through his head registered. He felt cold, suddenly.

"What? Why not?" Zevran smiled, sadly.

"Do you really not know, Alistair?" Alistair was silent, emotionless. Zevran looked across the hall, to the far end. Two halls led deeper into the castle's interior, and at those two openings were campfires, several fighters and architects sitting around them, eating and laughing. One figure sat among them wearing a beautiful black cloak, the red lining just visible at its feet. "Alistair, since we are friends, I will talk to her, ask her to see you, but I cannot promise you anything. You know how she is."

"Thank you Zevran, I-"

"Just wait here, okay? I will come back and tell you her decision." Alistair nodded eagerly.

He watched Zevran walk across the huge hall, over to the campfires, and watched him place his hand on the cloaked figure's shoulder.

_Miriam…_

As she stood, the top of her hood only came up to Zevran's chin. Alistair smiled; her height had always been a sore spot for her. They walked back into one of the back halls, and Alistair lost sight of them, so he waited, glancing over at his company quickly. They were being seated, and given food; they had no idea that they might be seeing their old leader, the hero of Ferelden, right here, right now.

Alistair knew something was wrong when Zevran came out of the room alone. He immediately walked toward Zevran, to meet him halfway.

"I am sorry, my friend, but-"

Suddenly Alistair turned; he caught the ever so faint smell of smoke, and he called her trick; he knew her too well. He reached out, almost instinctively, knowing that contact could break the ruse.

His hand brushed fabric, and she was there, trying to sneak past him, to get away. She whipped around in surprise, causing her hood to fall back. Alistair only saw her long, blonde braid whip past him as she started to run.

It had been three nights since they'd last seen Miriam, and yet here she came, stepping out of the woods silently, walking up towards the fire. The others inquired about her health, where she had been. They filled her in on the battle plan, the past few days' activities. It was as if they knew she was to be gone this long, as if they knew she'd come back now. Alistair couldn't bring himself to talk to her. It was too painful. She made no attempt to communicate with him about what had happened; on the contrary, she ignored him.

_

* * *

_

_Miriam walked up to the pond to bathe, and she looked at her reflection in the water. Her hair, long and blonde, was in two braids, pinned to her head in twists. She had worn it that way because her mother had before her. It was a source of pride before, but now it reminded her of Anora. Anora, who Alistair would marry. Anora had betrayed them, and yet it was she Alistair had left Miriam for. In anger, Miriam grabbed her dagger from the side of the pond and cut them off in the middle. Her hair unwound itself and fell free, just past her shoulders. She felt naked, almost, used to having hair down to the small of her back. She dressed silently and when she got back to camp, tossed the braids in the fire without a word, and then retired to her tent after informing the group they'd begin their journey to Redcliffe the next morning. _

_Alistair stared at the braids as they slowly burned, tortured. She knew he'd loved her hair that way. He let a single tear slide down his blank face, and he stared into the fire until it was only embers._

_

* * *

_

Alistair ran after her as fast as he could, leaving all else behind. She had the advantage; he was in the massive golden royal armor, and he was bigger than her. He was a stranger in the castle, and she knew her way. She turned fast, ran up stairs, dodging people ad pillars, weaving her way through the complex halls of the castle, higher and higher. He stayed close, led on by her cloak flying around a corner, or a flash of golden hair from her braid flying out behind her as she ran.

Finally he found himself running after her down a long, narrow hall. On his left, the wall was the stone face of the cliff, and on his right beautiful stone archways overlooked the entire encampment, as well as the forests beyond. The view even starched to include the Amaranthine Ocean, sparkling in the distance, but Alistair couldn't stop; he was so close to finding what he had been searching for.

He flew through the doorway, throwing the makeshift door flap aside, to find her standing to face him. Alistair realized she had nowhere else to go; it was a dead end.

She sighed heavily, looking at him through beautiful bright silver eyes.

"So, Alistair. We meet at last."


	4. Chapter 4 Meetings and Mixed Feelings

**Chapter 4—Meetings and Mixed Feelings**

"_So, Alistair. We meet at last." She said, her voice womanly and beautiful._

_Alistair smiled at the young elfin woman standing before him. She was short; only about to his chin at best, but she seemed to radiate strength and determination. She was pale, but her eyelids were dark, perhaps shadowed to blend in with the tattoo on her right temple and left cheek. She had bright, silver eyes; they looked unnatural, made him start at first. Her hair was twisted into two separate braids, pinned to the back of her head just behind her delicately pointed ears, save for a few loose strands, which fell across her face and blew in the breeze and brushed her beautiful dark red lips as she spoke. He shook hands with her, bewitched._

"_Ah, I assume you're Duncan's newest recruit?"_

"_Uh huh. I'm Miriam. Pleased to meet you." _

"_Nice to meet you, as well. We should probably get back to Duncan, begin the joining…" _

"_So eager to get to work, Alistair? Alright then, I suppose there'll be time for me to admire the beauty of Ostagar later. Come, we'll go together."_

_

* * *

_

Miriam had hardly changed. He looked at her, his heart hurting, full of confusion. She wore simple Dalish leather armor beneath her cloak, which she tossed aside. Her eyes still bore the bags of sleeplessness, something that had always plagued her. She carried only one of her two weapons of choice: Duncan's dagger.

"Miriam, I-" he began, unsure of what to say.

"Please, Alistair." She interrupted, looking away from him. "Please, just tell me why you are here." He was silent, having no actual motive. This entire meeting had been chance; he had not planned or expected it. Miriam turned back to him, and the light of the sun caught on an earring, causing a flash. "Well?"

"I came here to find you, Miriam." He finally replied, heavily, slowly. She looked up at him, sadly.

"Why, Alistair? What do you want from me? What else can you possibly need?" spoke the woman who had given him everything.

"I still love you." He confessed. The world slowed again. He saw the surprise in her eyes, the pain his words brought. It was silent for a few minutes.

"What of Anora? Is she not with child?" Alistair was taken aback.

"How-"

"Please. You should know me better than that. Well?"

"I do not love her, Miriam. I married her out of duty to Ferelden." Miriam grimaced, anger ebbing at her heart.

"Duty! Do not speak to me of duty, Alistair. I know it too well, this duty of yours, and I care nothing for it. Or have you forgotten? You left me for duty. You chose that life, so how can you be here now? Have you realized what I told you so long ago? Has it finally clicked with you?"

* * *

"_Miriam, we need to end this." Her eyes opened wide, she turned to face him in surprise and pain. _

"_Alistair, please, can we talk about this later?" she asked, conscious of the group's eyes on them; everyone was here, everyone was watching…_

"_There is no later, Miriam. Eamon has gathered the troops at Redcliffe. We meet there tomorrow, then we march."_

"_Alistair…why?"_

"_Look, there must be an heir to the throne…the taint in both of us would prevent us from ever having a healthy, normal family. I love you, more than anything in the entire world, but I can't leave Ferelden in the same state Cailain left it in."_

"_Alistair…you don't have to do this. We could change Ferelden. Being a king doesn't mean you must be a slave to the throne every moment of your life. What will happen when you go to the Deep Roads? You don't have to go alone…" she pleaded, tears in her eyes. Alistair sadly shook his head, on the verge of tears himself._

"_It is my duty, Miriam. I am so sorry, but it is my duty." He turned and walked away, gently closing the door behind himself. He made it out of the marketplace and to the stables before he started to cry. He mounted his horse and rode fast, his eyes blurring with tears as he made his way back to camp._

_

* * *

_

"Miriam, I have never stopped loving you. I searched for you everywhere after you disappeared. I…I know that I hurt you, but I…at the time, I thought…"

Miriam smiled, sadly, a tear running down her cheek, and she walked close to him, and placed a hand on his cheek. He held it, and he felt like crying.

"Oh, Alistair, I wish…I wish we could still be together, but…we both moved on…didn't we? You broke my heart, Alistair. I swore I'd never love you again. I can't go back on that just because you came back for me." He closed his eyes, feeling her hand on his cheek.

* * *

_Miriam placed her hand on his cheek, lovingly running her thumb in circles around his jaw line. _

"_You are so handsome, Alistair…" she murmured, her head pillowed on his bare chest, dimly lit by firelight seeping in through the tent's thin cloth. He smiled at her, blissfully happy._

"_Miriam, you are the most beautiful creature to ever grace this world." She smiled, and blushed, gently moving to kiss him._

"_Your hand is cold." Alistair murmured, taking it into his own. She smiled and whispered,_

"_Then warm it up for me, silly." He grinned, sliding his arms around her._

_Later, he watched her, listening to the crackling of the campfire, and the soft sighs of his lover sleeping. _

"_I love you." He whispered to her sleeping body, and he took her hand, placing it on his cheek. She sighed in her sleep, and rolled closer to him, but left her hand to lovingly caress his face._

* * *

The sound of heavily armored boots signaled someone's arrival in the long hallway outside of the room, and Miriam stepped away from Alistair with a heavy heart. Sten stepped into the room, stooping so he could fit through the arched doorway. Alistair instinctively took a step back. Sten was a bit taller and more muscular, if possible, than he had been during their travels together. His sword, Asala, was on his back, and his armor was spattered with blood.

"I came as soon as I heard, Kadan." He said, addressing Miriam.

"Uh, hello, Sten…" Alistair said, surprised, but Sten merely looked at him.

"Sten, will you take him and give him a tent? He is an honored guest." Sten nodded, and motioned for Alistair to follow him. Alistair turned towards Miriam to protest but she spoke first.

"We'll talk more later, Alistair. I…I have a lot to do. I'll…I'll come see everyone soon." He hesitated, but nodded, and followed Sten out. They passed Zevran on the way, but he merely smiled at Alistair and Sten, and then continued to Miriam's room.


	5. Chapter 5 Persuasion

**Chapter 5—Persuasion**

Zevran cautiously lifted the bearskin that hung over the doorway to Miriam's room, and stepped inside, silently. She had picked the room because it was a beautiful vantage point over the encampment, and it was also a place where she could escape from everybody else.

He looked around; items she had collected on her journeys were everywhere. There was a shelf of exotic books, a desk littered with maps and notes, a box of letters from different factions asking favors of her. Her clothes were gathered unceremoniously in a pile on the floor, but her warden commander armor was carefully constructed on its stand, the golden trim gleaming in the sunlight. Mounted on the wall, carefully polished and cared for, was King Marric's sword, which she had lovingly dubbed Darkspawn Slayer. Other little things littered the room. He checked her bed to see if she was there, but the pile of animal pelts on the old stone table was untouched.

Zevran turned to find her standing alone on her balcony, watching Sten lead Alistair, Wynne, and Oghren to a small area where they could pitch their tents and set up their things. He watched her hair blow in the wind, her face blank and unfeeling. He silently placed his hand over hers, leaning on the balcony beside her. Tears rolled down her cheeks.

"Oh, _Zev_…" she whispered, choking on her words. He pulled her into him, and led her back into the room, shushing her affectionately as she cried.

"My dear gray warden…you are stronger than this…" he insisted, wiping away her tears with his thumb.

"_My dear gray warden…you are stronger than this!" Zevran insisted, putting his arm around Miriam encouragingly as she cried. The sounds of the forest in early summer surrounded them as they sat by the fire, waiting for Sten to return from his watch._

"_Oh Zev…I'm trying to be strong but…but…I loved him…"she burst in to tears again. Zevran shushed her, and pulled her chin up so she was facing him._

"_You were too good for him in the first place, my dear. There are men better suited for a warrior and an accomplished assassin like yourself. People more experienced in love, people stronger than Alistair who will be able to see what they have. Cheer up, Miriam, before I am forced to try and do so, yes?" Miriam giggled, and sniffled, wiping her tears away._

"_I…I'll try, Zev. Thank you…I'm glad you didn't let me go alone." Zevran laughed._

"_With only Sten and your hound as company? I would never forgive myself for leaving a beauty like yourself in such dull company." Miriam blushed._

"_Flatterer." Zevran smiled._

"_I call you beautiful because it is true! Would you rather I not?"_

"_Oh, please, by all means, Zev…" He chuckled and opened his mouth to reply, but Sten stomped his way out of the forest, a second Qunari following him._

"_Come, Kadan, our ship is here. Pack your things, we must leave soon." Miriam nodded, and Zevran stood, and then helped Miriam to her feet._

"_Well then, off we go. Hey, after we get back from Seheron, I'll take you to Antiva. We can run from the crows and find you some real men to spend the night with…as long as I get to join in of course." Miriam laughed, punching him on the arm playfully as she helped him roll up the tents._

"_I refuse to take my sorrows out on prostitutes, Zev!"_

"_Such a shame. There is a whore house just south of the main marketplace, and both the men and the women there-"_

"_Zev!" Miriam protested, and he grinned slyly._

"_What? You can't blame me for trying…"_

Miriam collapsed onto her bed, face down.

"I don't know what to do, Zev. He was never supposed to find me here. How did he find us? How could I have been so careless?" She moaned into an animal pelt, facedown, her body splayed across the stone she had made into her bed. Zevran sat next to her, smiling encouragingly. Miriam didn't respond, simply lying there, pouting.

"My dear, it is not your fault in the least." He stood and walked to the balcony, looking down as Alistair's guards pitched his tent for him. "Fate is a tricky whore, no?" He turned and walked slowly to Miriam. "If you would like, I can…talk them into leaving the camp." Miriam shook her head.

"I can't have them leave now; they could ruin everything we've worked for, Zev." He sat next to her, slowly running his hands up and down her back, smiling. He leaned down, allowing his lips to brush the back of her neck as he whispered,

"Are you sure, my dear warden? I can be so very…_persuasive_…"

_Miriam collapsed on the sleeping bag, completely worn out. She watched Zevran add wood to the campfire; they were deep in the ruins under Miriam's dream city, which she called "Mihereionas" which meant "miracle city" in the lost language of elves. They had been fighting wild beasts and darkspawn deserters all day, and they had finally cleared out a giant, crumbling chamber that was bigger than any cathedral. Among the rubble, they had made a camp for the night. Zevran looked at the warden where she lay, exhausted yet still struggling to remain alert. _

"_Tsk tsk tsk." Zevran clicked with his tongue, as if disapproving of the warden. She sat up, looking around. _

"_What is it?"_

"_You look so tired, my dear warden. But I have an idea, to help…relieve you of your stress." She smirked._

"_This I have to hear." Zevran grinned, walking over to her._

"_Here is what I suggest: There is a special massage I learned in Antiva, which is proven to release all stress and tension from one's body." Miriam's eyes flew open, and she blushed._

"_Zevran, are you implying…?" He smiled, and shrugged, pleased with her coyness. _

"_Whether or not there is more than a massage involved, we shall see…but if you're not of a mind…" Miriam blinked a couple times._

"_I-no, I am of a mind, it's just…" He raised an eyebrow, and Miriam blushed harder than ever, pulling her knees up to her nose. She mumbled something incomprehensible into her legs, and Zevran placed a hand on her shoulder._

"_My dear, I would think we have been good friends long enough to where you can tell me anything." She bashfully looked away._

"_It's just…well I guess you're so experienced, whereas Alistair and I, we…well we were both…you know…" _

"_Virgins?" Miriam nodded. "I do not see how that matters, my dear…" _

"_Well…I…I don't want to disappoint you, I suppose." Zevran smiled, and leaned into her, so his lips brushed her neck._

"_My dear warden, let me persuade you that you will never, ever disappoint me."_

Miriam rolled over, a weary smile on her face, and sighed.

"Thanks, Zev, but all the same, I can't let them leave, at least not until we are sure Alistair won't try to claim Mihereionas from us. Which means making sure that bitch Anora never finds out about it and that'll be quite some challenge, seeing as Alistair can't keep secrets worth crap." Zevran stretched out, laying his body next to hers, and wrapping his arms around her.

"My dear, you must not fret as you do. Let it wait until morning tomorrow, and then we shall make a decision. In the meantime, let's just try to relax, hm?" Miriam smiled, and kissed his head, standing.

"I'm going to go finish my dinner, and check on the dwarves' progress in the west wing. I'll see you tonight, Zev." He smiled, and stood.

"Let me walk you down."


End file.
